Abracadabra
by Bomb-O-Maniac
Summary: Blind as he was, John always knew there was something wrong with his oldest son. HPxover
1. The Magic Son

**Abracadabra**

**By: Bomb-O-Maniac**

**Summary:** Blind as he was, John always knew there was something wrong with his oldest son. HPxover

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural nor Harry Potter (or any of the other characters belonging to the two respective fiction pieces). Yea.

**Notes:** Sorry about the suck-tastic summary.

* * *

_(The Magic Son) 1/3_

There were some things in the world that John Winchester refused to acknowledge.

One was the fact that Missouri had said his and Mary's baby was _special. Special_ in the way that would someday very well be the bane of the boys existence - and the death of John himself.

Second, was the fact that weird things kept happening to his oldest - who had no way of explaining them. John knew they were just the pranks the boy was fond of. There was an explanation about how three of his classmates had turned pink, how all the food in the school cafeteria had been replaced with jell-o, and how 'someone' had rigged his teachers desk to explode. He just _knew it._

Oh, there were other things. Things regarding Mary. Things about himself, about his choices. Things about the future. Things about the _things_ he hunted that John would never acknowledge. But as blind as he was to his own faults, and he knew he was blind, John just _knew_ that there was something wrong with his boy.

The man turned the key in the lock, and listened for the satisfying turn of the tumblers. Pushing all thoughts of the things he did and did not acknowledge out of his mind, the man entered the small rental house he lived in (for the moment anyways), and felt the ever present sadness that loomed dark in his heart, threaten to overtake. Maybe one day. . .

No.

John shook his head. He wouldn't go there. Eager to check on Mary's baby boy, the hunter took the quickest way to his sons bedroom by cutting through the kitchen.

The man felt his heart stop the second he entered the kitchen.

His boy looked up from his work at the small kitchen table and froze. The magic stopped, and one of the things John refused to acknowledge laughed in his face. His mouth pulled deep into a dark frown, his eyes narrowed. He hadn't wanted it to come to this; he never wanted this!

"Get out," John growled, "Get out of the kitchen. Now!" he ended thunderously. With out looking at the blond haired, green eyed boy frozen at the kitchen table, John Winchester headed towards the cupboard and the liquid heat that lived on the top shelf.

His father refused to even look at him. He'd merely grabbed the lone bottle of Jack from the almost bare cupboard and chugged. Dean left the room as quickly and as quietly as he could.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice much older than that his eight years was screaming at him. Dean knew his father. And Dean knew what he had to do. The boy fled to the room he shared with his brother. He knew what he had to do.

Sammy was 3 and a half years old and Dean wondered how his little brother would take the loss. Daddy - _John_ had made it clear just now that he wasn't wanted, and that the only way he was going to stay alive was to _leave_.

Or die.

Dean Winchester was not an idiot, despite what that awful teacher had told him, and he knew exactly how his Daddy thought. How his reasoning traveled. He knew exactly what his Dad was thinking and had been thinking for a very long time.

If Dean died, he would never grow up, and if Dean never grew up he would never 'grow into' his powers, and if Dean never 'grew into' his powers, then by god there was no way in hell he would ever be able to become some _Wizard. _

Deans mind snarled at the word, he didn't want to be magic - he hated magic! Why would any god see fit to grant him that kind of _curse_? Hot tears trailed down his cheeks. Why him? What did he ever do? He was a good brother! He did everything his Daddy-_John_ asked him to! Or he had. Dean shoved the last of his clothes in to the ratty duffel and zipped it as softly as he could. _'My magic isn't bad!'_ he sobbed silently, _'Why can't he see that?'_

His eyes gazed upon Sammy. He didn't want to wake up his brother, even to say goodbye. No matter how much he doubted Sammy would never remember him. Sniffling, he rubbed at his nose, snot wetting the worn sleeve of his hoodie. Glancing away from his sleeping brother and then back, the urge to wake him up and take him with fought against the iron decision of 'Sammy will be safer with Daddy-_John_'. The brief indecision ended as Dean shook his head. No. Sammy would stay. He had to. _John_ would be able to look after him just fine.

There was a _thud_ from the other room, and Dean froze. Dread filled the pit in his stomach and the fear in him ran rampant. He listened for the sounds of his father's footsteps and found them drawing closer. Grabbing his bag, Dean slipped towards the window, fear making him sloppy. The footsteps quieted and Dean knew he'd been made.

Dad-_John_ kicked the door open and the hallway light blinded Dean.

"Where the heeell do you think you're going, _son,_" _John_'s drunken slur paralyzed his oldest son, "Mary wouldn't want you to grow up to be an abomi_nation_. _Good_bye, Dean-o."

At the distinctive sound of his Daddy's gun being cocked, Dean's world went black.

**Notes: TBC! **


	2. Dean, James Dean

**_Chapter Two -2/3_**

* * *

_Bobby Singer was having a good dream. He knew it was a dream because his wife was in it, the crazy old broad down the street had just dropped off a box full of puppies, claiming he needed to _'Keep-uh dat dam-gum dawg on uh leash'_, before she, '_Shots it full'er b'ck'shot'.

_(Damn, crazy old broad still lived down the road, too)_

_He'd just been peering over Angie's shoulder- noticing that even in a dream, she still smelled of soap, cinnamon, and something feminine he didn't know the name of- an he noticed that, yea, they were definitely Mecha's spawn. They were all cute as a button, and they were all falling all over themselves to get to Angie's gentle, petting hands. Licking her fingers, wagging their cute little rumps, yipping and barking, and generally being annoying cute fur balls. _

_Except one._

_This one puppy seemed to not want any attention. In fact, it almost seemed shunned by the other puppies. So, it was trying to make a break for it (not succeeding very well, but trying anyways), by climbing up the side of the cardboard box with gusto. Raising his brows, Bobby reached for the odd puppy out._

"_Come 'ere ya little bugger - ow!" Angie laughed- like chimes, low, breathy chimes just as he remembered- while he stuck his finger in his mouth. The bugger had bitten him!_

"_You going to let a little puppy get the best of you, Bobby?" she asked. Bobby huffed, leaning over to pick the bugger up again. No lil' pup was gunna get the better of him._

"_Maybe we can keep them all?" his lovely dishwater blond hummed to herself, not paying much more attention to Bobby. 'If only' the man thought to himself._

_This time, Bobby was ready for the little mutt's tricks. Dodging small sharp teeth, and surprisingly swift paws, the mechanic grabbed the mini-mutt by the scruff of its neck and lifted it out of the box. The puppy squeaked and snarled, and the man had to guffaw at the hilarity of it. _

_It (he, Bobby noticed expertly), squirmed and wriggled, snapping his little jaws at Bobby's face, sounding for all the world like one of them remote control toy cars those kids had now a-days. _

"_Now, you just calm yourself down, ya here?" Bobby spoke to the puppy in a calm, deep voice, grabbing its tiny jaws with his other hand, and looking it in the eyes as he did so, "There'll be none of that in my house, got that?"_

"_Bobby Singer what are you doing to that dog?" In one fell swoop, Angie had risen up and snatched the little bugger from Bobby's grasp and had him smooshed up against her bosom, nuzzling it with her cheek, "Awe, aren't you just adorable!" Mr. Singer's jaw dropped._

_Bobby had never been more jealous of a dog in his life. Looking back down, he wasn't much surprised to see the rest of the puppies and dilapidated cardboard box were gone, so he tromped back inside to see what his wife had done with the puppy. _

"_I think we should name him James," Angie said in a sing-song voice, carrying the puppy in one arm as she went about her business in the kitchen, "After the actor. We can call him James Dean." Beneath his ball cap, the man's brows rose. 'Yea, little mutt does kind of act like the kid,' he thought to himself, 'Ha, good thing Dean's not in this dream.'_

"_Oh, Bobby, will you hold Dean for a few minutes? I need both hands," with a flutter, Angie deposited the little mutt (that had now started up his miniature toy car growl once again), in his arms. He felt the urge to point out the obvious._

"_Why should I hold him? It's a dog, he can walk." Angie merely huffed, opening the oven door and reaching in._

"_He's just a baby, Bobby," she said as if that trumped anything he could say about otherwise, "Why don't you both go out and bond? Wont get anything done just standing there." _

_Shrugging, Bobby exchanged a glance with the little mutt (who was still growling cutely), "Ok."_

_Tromping out of the house, Bobby was making his way towards the garage when it happened. He knew it was only a matter of time before it got weird. It always got weird._

"_Bobby."_

"_Hey, Bobby! Damn it, look at me!"_

_Bobby looked around. Talking dirt, maybe?_

"_Hardly, old man," the squeaky voice said, sounding vaguely familiar, "And why the hell are you still carrying me anyways? I've got four legs, I can walk." With surprise, Bobby stared down at the puppy in his arms._

"_You can talk -"_

"_You're damn right I can talk, and boy do I got some words for you," once again, Bobby's brows shot up, albeit, hidden behind his cap. Big puppy brown eyes looked up at him as if he was an idjit._

"_Oh yea?" he asked, trying to place the voice, "What's that?"_

"_First of all, you're going to have company in a couple minutes, but don't worry, it's someone you know," the puppy said archly, " Secondly, you may want to get back in touch with your parental side, 'cuz boy is life gunna get hectic for you."_

"_Okaaay…."_

"_Bite me," the mutt snapped in his adorably cute ickle, little voice, "Third, you may want to dig out Angie's books when you wake up."_

"_What for?" He hadn't seen those since… well, they were in the attic, some where's._

"_Can't tell you, this is a dream," the puppy barked, "Supposed to be vague remember?"_

"_Huh…"_

"_Anyways, here's the last and final thing you gotta do."_

"_What's that, ya idjit?" The puppy smirked, and damned if it didn't look eerily similar to - it opened it's tiny jaws with its tiny pink tongue and tiny, pearly white teeth - _

"_Wake up-"_ Bobby flew out of his chair like he'd been shot. Hunkered down on the cool ground, arms covering his head like he'd done numerous times - just like in Korea - gunfire raining in the back ground - grenades exploding like thunder -

Silence. Bobby lifted his head gently. It was night. His breath white on the blackness. Flashback?

"What in the Sam-hill was that. . .?" Rumsfield whuffed, "Don't look at me you big wuss, get out there and do your job!" The extra-large puppy bounded off the porch, and in no time, was heard barking across the lot. Bobby heaved himself up and followed the deep throated barks to the edge of the forest. As he got closer, he slowed to a walk, taking in all that he saw with a critical eye.

Trotting back and forth, the dog didn't know what to do with the smoking body that lay prostrate on the ground. The man ran a hand over his face to make sure he wasn't having a flashback. He looked back down at the body.

Nope.

It was human alright. The shape of a small adult - more probably a child, he assumed - who mysteriously appeared on his property. Knocked out. Thin trails of smoke rising from his body like he'd been

Rumsfield got brave and slowly approached the body, delicately sniffing at the body's head. The dog sneezed. It looked back at Bobby, it's stumpy tale and rump wriggling in the dark light as if to say, "_It's okay, I sniffed it. We're good."_

Bobby shook his head. Kneeling next to the form, he pulled back the body's hood. He wasn't sure if he wanted to roll his eyes or be surprised.

"Ah, dammit all," he muttered, settling on rolling his eyes, "It's a Winchester."

~*~sparkle~*~sparkle~*~

(_the next day, early morning sometime)_

Far, far away, on the east coast of the United States, where people had funny names like Shrewsbury and Swoetman and even funnier accents, a scrawny little man who lived in Zoratan - a practiced, scholarly scrawny little man as well as a celebrated professor at a prestigious school for gifted young students - fell off his stool. Granted, the man was old, like, ancient. But it wasn't his fault that he fell. Truly.

It was his assistant - a woman he'd know the majority of her (comparatively) short life, was sweet and quite - barged into his office, screaming at the top of her lungs like a banshee that the psychic had gone into convulsions, that caused him to fall off his stool whilst he was putting away a very heavy book on a very high shelf.

Never a good sign. But still, she needn't have screamed.

~*~sparkle~*~

(_a few hours and at least two timezones away)  
_

Dean's eyes snapped open. His heart pounded as his mind caught up with his self. Fear raced up his spine and took away his breath. No! He was paralyzed - he couldn't - !

"Goddamnitall!" the distant bellow shocked Dean out of his trance, "I told you not once but a thousand times, ya yellow-livered s-o-b, NO!"

Peeking out the window, Dean watched an irate Bobby singer cuss out a tall, slick man in an expensive suit. The suit said something to which Bobby said something about a shotgun. Suit turned red, hopped in his expensive car and peeled out of the yard, spitting dirt and gravel with its tires. Turning away from the window, the 8 yr old abruptly sat on the floor. Gazing at the floor, his mind felt like a whirlwind going fast and going nowhere. What the hell?

Sunlight blazed through the window, bathing the room in bright light and illumination the dust particles in the air. Now he recognized the room he and Sammy used to share. Now he recognized where Sammy had painted all over the floor. Drawn all over the dirty white wall. Now he recognized his posters. Now he could see the protection symbols peeking out from behind them from underneath their edges.

Now he could hear the footsteps of Bobby (who else could it be?) coming up the stairs. Dean backed up as close to the wall as he could get. Panic - he didn't want to die - he needed to get out - _runrunrunrunrunrun_ raced through his mind -

The footsteps trundled right on past his room, and down the hallway. Bobby grumbled something just loud enough to be heard through the walls, but not loud enough to be understood. He came back and clunked back down the stairs, still grumbling.

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. Frightened, but relieved. Unsure if he was safe or prisoner. The boy decided that he wasn't going to risk finding out.

Bobby knew the brat was awake. If he hadn't felt the kids eyes on his back outside while dealing with the suit, he'd have known soon enough anyways. He could always tell when the boys were awake because the floor above the ceiling would creek at the slightest movement. Rumsfield's ears perked up at the sound, and his eyes begged to be let inside to investigate their visitor further. Taking a sip of his coffee, the older man considered it. It would make a nice revenge to let the dog loose on the boy for keeping him up late last night… but then again, he wasn't sure what kind of state of mind the boy was even in.

Last he'd heard, the Winchester's were all the way across the states. Apparating that far, at such a young age would probably have some kind of adverse affect, he was positive. Not to mention something must have scared the ever loving god out of him to access his powers like _that_.

The creaking stopped. Rumsfield's head turned an almost full 360 before the rest of his body followed. He bounded away from the front porch, barking his ugly mug off. Bobby followed at a sedate pace, coffee mug in hand.

Letting the screen door shut quietly, the grizzled man stood beneath the porch awning until he saw a pair of legs swing over the edge of it before he said anything.

"You could 'ave just used the stairs, ya idjit." Silence.

"What are you doin' on the porch of my roof?" More silence. Bobby sighed. He had a flickering of an idea about what may have happened now, and he sure as hell didn't like it one bit. "Listen, your daddy doesn't know you're here. No one does. And as for how you ended up in my yard last night, I don't care. So, if ya plan on runnin' away, at least do it with a full stomach and a proper good-bye."

With out waiting for a reply, Bobby turned on his heal and went back in the house to fire up the stove.

Rumsfield kept barking at the boy on the roof.

* * *

**Notes: 8D So, I think it's time to invest in a Beta. Or figure out the beta system on ... one or the other. There are a few other HP/SPN/anything crossovers floating around in my brain. It's hard having the crossoveritus disease. Yeaa... nothing overly bad happened to Dean. Yet, anyways.  
**

**Bomb-Chan  
**


	3. Chachachachanges

Chapter 3/3

Dean didn't talk. He was like that the first time they'd met years ago, too. Too traumatized to speak. So instead, Dean stared at him like the world was ending (because who's world _wouldn't _end if their Daddy tried to kill them?), was forever on the verge of tears and never crying, and Bobby did his best to read his mind.

John called once for information on two things. One of which Bobby would never tell, as it concerned Dean himself, and the other knowledge he gave with a reference to a different hunter who was just as knowledgeable (supposedly anyways, Bobby was pretty awesome, if he did say so himself), stating that he was a busy and shouldn't be bothered for a while.

Dean had hidden out in the back amongst the ghosts of dead cars with Rumsfield during the entire phone call.

Dean did no magic at all that first month after his apparition into Bobby's yard, and Bobby never brought it up. The grizzled man considered going into the attic and bringing down some of Angie's old books… but, honestly, he considered that to be a last resort. He'd actually like for the boy to speak to him before busting out something like that. In reality, he knew he was damn lucky the boy hadn't bolted that first day and everyday since then.

Bobby would just have to be patient.

_spnhpspn_

It was when the Suit came back that Dean showed some spark of life. The two grown men had been arguing loudly about Bobby's land, legal terms, contracts, shotgun threats, and the sleazy bastards general slimy-ness when the little blond had marched right up to the pair, grabbed Bobby's hand, and kicked the other man in the shin as hard as he could.

"Go away!" the boy shouted, "We don't like you!" Slimeball Suit spluttered, hopping on one foot,

"You're just going to let him get away with that?" Bobby gave him a look.

"Yeap," he sneered, "and I suggest you best leave now and not come back before I let him kick you in the balls next." Dean stuck his tongue out at the Slimeball Suit for good measure. Behind them, Rumsfield let out a thunderous growl, that, if anything, sounded more dragon than dog.

Slimball Suit sputtered and then froze. His eyes widened to comic proportions and his face whitened. The old mechanic vaguely wondered if all the blood had actually left the other mans body. His musings were cut short though, when on the cloudless sunny blue day that it was, it suddenly became overcast in the shape of a very large dog, with giant bat wings, horns, and horrible breath. Bobby grinned despite himself.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

Slimeball Suit never came back.

_spnhpspn_

Bobby would have been lying to himself if he said things from there had immediately become all sunshine and daisies. Though, to say that things _hadn't_ gotten a little easier would have been a lie as well. While the boy still didn't say jack-diddly after the 'Incident' (that was what Bobby had taken to calling it in his mind), he was much more…aware? With it? He became clingy whenever they went anywhere, always holding his hand or his pant leg, and at home he was always with in about 10 ft of him with Rumsfield not far behind.

But, Bobby figured, he liked it. He liked being the one someone depended on. He didn't like the fact that Dean was traumatized, no sir, nor that his life was possibly in danger from his very own _father_… But still. It was nice.

His mind wandered to John Winchester every now and then with thoughts on how to keep deflecting the bastard away from his homestead and away from Dean. When the other man had first shown up, he'd seen something briefly in his eyes, something he hadn't been able to place. Since then he'd glimpsed it occasionally and it had taken a while to figure out what exactly he'd seen. He'd talked to Harvelle about it, who mentioned something similar about the ex-marine, and Ellen just didn't like the bastard at all.

(And it would take a year until a haunting at an asylum where Bobby would recognize the look in John's eyes as _madness_)

Maybe someday Dean would tell him what happened, so he would no longer have to put together the clues (such as the wild-eyed look he would get whenever his daddy's name was mentioned, the fear in his eyes around pistols, or even the way he would eye the alcohol in the cabinet). It didn't have to be soon, he just held onto the hope of 'someday'.

_spnhpspn_

In New England, in a small town called Zoratan, the practiced, scholarly, practically ancient little man from the second chapter stood in the door way of the psychics room. His assistant sat quietly by the bed, ringing out a fresh cold rag before placing it on the psychics forehead.

"How is she?" the man asked quietly, "Has she…"

"No," his assistant murmured, "I'm afraid that whatever is happening to her may drastic consequences on her abilities."

"Lets hope not-_crap!"_ he squeaked as the psychic suddenly sat up, the rag falling to her lap. Her pale, pupil-less eyes rolled back, she jerked, gasping for breath. In a ragged voice, she said,

"_The machinations of the bodiless will shift. _

_He who was born on the day when Our Peaceful Lady feasts… _

_given the power to change destinies of those who would suffer_

_at the hands of a snake with seven lives. _

_He shall stop his brother whose blood is black,_

_and keep the horn of Gabriel from sounding."_

The recording globe on the nightstand flashed a few times then faded to a misty glow. Sighing, the scholarly old guy muttered mostly to himself,

"Well. Crap."

_spnhpspn_

Sammy Winchester didn't notice at first that his brother was gone. Nope. Too engrossed in his Lucky Charms and early morning cartoons in ("Thundahcats - ho!" the toddler would shriek, waving the open box around, sending bits of cereal flying, "Ho! Ho!"). Later when he was looking for his favorite book, would he realize that Dean was no where to be found, and that Daddy didn't look to good.

Crying for his big brother, little Sammy searched the small house low and as high as he could reach. Fruitless in his search, the boy turned to his father, "Dean's gone!" he wailed.

Daddy Winchester picked up his youngest - his _only_ son- and held him in his arms.

"Bad news, Sammy," Daddy rumbled, "Dean's gone. He's not coming back." Sammy's eyes widened, not understanding and understanding in such a way that only small children can.

"Where Dean? Find Dean! Dean!" the boy cried kicking his legs, "Deaan!"

"Listen to me," Daddy held the child, trying to be soothing, "Dean's not coming back."

"Noooo!" The boy started to shriek, "Noooo!" Frustrated, Daddy held up and out from him by his pits.

"Quiet!" he thundered, giving the boy a little jerk, "Dean is no more, you hear me?" the boy whimpered and Daddy sighed, "I'm sorry," and pulled the child against his chest, "I'm sorry."

"Want Dean," the child sobbed into the mans shoulder, and Daddy Winchester felt not one ounce of guilt as he patted the boys back in comfort. When Sammy got bigger, he would teach the child everything he knew and they would hunt down the monsters of this world.

When he got bigger, John would tell him the truth of the evil behind his brother, and he would do what he himself had failed to accomplish.

_-end-_

_**Author's Note: I have to admit, I'm rather proud of that prophecy. It's pretty obvious if you think about it, haha. Keep on the look out for a sequel(s)! At least one of them has an awesome title~ Please review (they are greatly appreciated) and tell me what you think.**_


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